


Idealism sits in prison (Chivalry fell on his sword)

by AerinAlanna



Category: Leverage, White Collar
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Neal gets himself into trouble, Subspace, Under-negotiated Kink, but considering the situation they do pretty well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27127975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AerinAlanna/pseuds/AerinAlanna
Summary: Neal decides to steal art from Damien Moreau.  It doesn't go as planned, so he decides to be charming, instead.That doesn't go as planned, either, but Neal doesn't really mind.
Relationships: Neal Caffrey/Eliot Spencer (Leverage)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	Idealism sits in prison (Chivalry fell on his sword)

**Author's Note:**

> The plot bunnies are incessant and my sister enables it. Maybe some day the plot bunnies will stay around and let me finish them instead of having babies and running off.

“Why are you standing?”

Neal wasn’t really sure. Maybe the strangeness of the whole situation had gotten to him enough to affect his survival instinct, because it should be telling him to get on his knees right now. But some other part of him had taken over, and his mouth opened. “To better admire your magnificence, sir.”

It was true that the man in front of him was attractive, but much of it came from the power he wore like his own skin—and an extraordinarily elegant three-piece suit.

The man’s smile was all teeth. “And I suppose that’s why you broke in here? To admire me?”

In for a penny, in for a pound, Neal thought. He shrugged dramatically, lifting his arms. “I am afraid that, as magnificent as you are, your art collection is even more impressive.”

One of Moreau’s eyebrows lifted. “Ah. An art thief. How…common.” He started to turn away, flicking a hand at one of his men, who came up behind Neal and grabbed him by the back of the neck. 

“Get on your knees,” the man growled.

Neal could see this going downhill much faster than he was comfortable with. He raised a condescending eyebrow. “I only kneel to greatness.” His chin lifted as he raised his voice. “Perhaps I can show you, Mr. Moreau?”

Moreau paused, then turned back around, a smile pulling at the side of his mouth. “I am far more than you could handle, little thief.” The smile widened. “But if you want greatness…” His gaze shifted to the man behind Neal. “Perhaps Spencer would be willing to see if what you say is true.”

Neal felt himself lifted onto his tiptoes. Suddenly the man was in front of him, and his next words caught in his throat. The man Moreau called Spencer was not especially tall, but his sheer presence was as overwhelming as Moreau’s. There was fire burning in his eyes, as opposed to Moreau’s detached cold, and that, combined with the man’s solid build and nearly ridiculous strength, made Neal’s body far more interested than it had been in anything besides survival moments before.

“Well?” Moreau asked.

“I would be honored to kneel to such greatness,” Neal said, suddenly unsure whether the waver in his voice was desperation or arousal. Moreau’s glance shifted back to Spencer, who nodded once.

Moreau gestured to one of his other men, his eyes still on Spencer. “Good. He’s your responsibility, then.”

Spencer nodded again. “Yes, Mr. Moreau.” After Moreau and his guard had left, Spencer let Neal down enough that he could hold his own weight again. “Idiot,” he murmured under his breath as he used his grip on Neal’s neck to move him forward.

“I’m still alive,” Neal protested, and received a cuff on the head.

“For now,” was Spencer’s dour response. “And only because Mr. Moreau thinks it’s more amusing to use you as an unexpected present for me.”

Spencer marched him out of the room and down the hall, his grip on Neal’s neck never loosening. Despite his current circumstances, Neal found himself distracted by—and very impressed with—his surroundings. “Was that a Renoir?” he asked as they passed another painting, trying to turn his head to see it better. Spencer didn’t respond, but Neal found his feet compelled to keep moving. He hmphed. “Really, you could at least let me see all the pretty things. Doesn’t a man get a last wish before he’s tortured and ravished?”

Spencer scoffed, then shoved Neal up against the wall between a Leighton and a Caravaggio. Neal could find fault with his target’s line of work, but not at all with his taste in art. One of Spencer’s hands found the wall near Neal’s face as as his other forearm pressed against the back of Neal’s neck, and he felt the heat of Spencer’s body behind him. “I know better than to take my hands off you, Caffrey,” Spencer growled. “My ability to crush your windpipe doesn’t make my brain less than functional.” He closed the slight distance between them, and Neal would have sworn he could feel every single muscle in the man’s body as it pinned him heavily to the wall. “And I’ll be sure to differentiate between the ravishment and the torture, since that seems to matter so much to you.”

When Neal opened his mouth to retort as Spencer yanked him away from the wall, he found it dry and empty of anything suitably biting. When they entered the elevator, Spencer kept him in the far corner the entire time, his glare making it clear that movement of any sort would be a bad idea. They exited the elevator in a less-decorated but still exceptionally expensive hallway, and Neal was almost relieved when they stopped at one of the doors. The combination of physical key and retina scanner interested him for a moment, but Spencer pushed him inside before he had a chance to examine it beyond a glance.

The door clicked shut behind them, and then Spencer’s hands were all over him in what Neal decided was the most thorough search he’d ever been subject to with his clothes on. It found everything that had managed to escape the notice of the guard who had searched him earlier, and Neal found himself unwillingly impressed with the man’s competency. When Spencer’s fingers began to check his mouth, however, he tried to pull away. “Whatever happened to romance?” he mumbled around the man’s fingers when it became clear that pulling away was impossible.

Spencer held up the lock pick that Neal had hidden in the side of his mouth, eyebrows raised. “Really? You thought you’d get romance out of this?” 

He tossed the pick into a trashcan behind him without looking, and Neal’s mouth dropped open. “I think I love you.”

Spencer angled a look at him. “You are a strange one.”

Neal grinned. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Spencer.” He cocked his head. “Or is Spencer your first name?”

The man growled again, and Neal was starting to worry about what that growl did to him, he really was, but that was something to worry about later. “My name is Eliot Spencer. It doesn't matter what you call me.” Then the man unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, and Neal’s mind nearly imploded trying to determine if this disaster of a job was worth it just to see Eliot Spencer shirtless. Neal didn’t realize he was staring until the man spoke again, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Well? What did you want to show Mr. Moreau?”

“In all honesty—and that doesn’t happen much,” Neal said, still staring, “I haven’t thought about Damien Moreau since you pushed me up against the wall.”

Spencer stepped forward slowly. “What are you thinking about?”

Neal licked his lips. “That this could have turned out substantially worse…sir.”

He was rewarded with a flash of something in Spencer’s eyes. The man stepped into Neal’s space, no taller than he but somehow incredibly intimidating. “I don’t think you appreciate the…fragility…of your situation.”

Neal blew out a breath as he felt his body respond to those words in that voice in ways no truly good person would ever dream of. “You know, I should think about that, I really should, but…” He shrugged. “I’m pretty sure I’m done thinking for right now.”

Spencer’s hand reached out and gripped his hair, and Neal felt himself fall to his knees, Spencer’s fingers tangled in his hair. The man hummed under his breath. “So you will kneel for me.”

Neal stared up at him, trying to breathe over the wave of arousal that had nearly knocked him flat. “Yes.”

Spencer’s other hand undid the belt around his waist and tossed it to the bed, “For later,” then unfastened his pants and yanked them down. His cock was hard, and Neal realized his mouth was dry again when he swallowed automatically. “May I?” he managed.

Spencer’s response was to tighten his grip on Neal’s hair and yank his head forward until his mouth was filled with Spencer’s cock. Despite the grip on his hair, Neal found that Spencer hadn’t pushed him down far enough to choke him. His stillness caught Spencer’s attention, and he felt another hand on his head, a thumb coming to rest on his cheek.

“If you aren’t moving in five seconds, I’m going to assume you want me to fuck your mouth instead of you showing me what you can do with it.”

Neal was torn. On one hand, he was very, very good with his mouth. On the other, this was turning him on in so many different ways, and the thought of having this man fuck his mouth…he pulled back slowly, meeting Spencer’s gaze the whole time, until he slid off. Putting more trust in this stranger than he had in anyone for ages, he whispered, “Please. Sir.”

A trace of a smile softened Spencer’s features, and the thumb on Neal’s cheek stroked gently. “If Damien could see you now, he’d regret having given you to me.” He shook his head, and the moment of sentiment was gone. “Open your mouth.” Neal did. Then Spencer was fucking his mouth, smooth and steady but with enough force that Neal would have had to work to stay upright were it not for the hand in his hair and on his face, holding him still as Spencer used his mouth. It had been months since he’d been with anyone, years since he’d trusted anyone enough to let them have power over him like this, and he could feel himself slipping away mentally to a place where all that existed was this man and the pleasure that Neal was giving him.

Even with his mind drifting, Neal could hear Spencer’s breathing grow heavy, could feel the ways his hands moved over Neal’s head and the way his hips twitched as he bottomed out. And then Spencer pulled him off, took hold of his shoulders and pulled him to his feet, and Neal could see concern on his face but was too far away to think about why part of his brain found that strange.

“Damn. I didn’t think…” 

Neal looked at him with wide eyes and an open, confused expression. “Aren’t you going to fuck me?”

Spencer took Neal’s face in both hands. “Tell me you’ve dropped like this before, kid.”

Neal nodded obediently. “Yeah, I have. Feels good.” He reached towards Spencer’s cock. “I want to feel you inside me.”

Spencer swore again, his body twitching. “Not like this. I’m…not a good guy, but that’s a line I don’t cross, Caffrey.” He rubbed a thumb over Neal’s parted lips. “Not even when you look so good I want to bend you over my bed and fuck you until you’re pliant and flushed underneath me.”

Neal grinned. “I like the sound of that.” He cocked his head at Spencer. “But the thought of it is even better.” His fingers started in on his shirt buttons, and he shrugged both jacket and shirt off, leaving him in slacks and a sleeveless undershirt, as well as shoes that Eliot thought probably cost as much as Moreau’s. Then Neal toed off his shoes and licked his lips as he held Spencer's gaze. “So?”

Spencer pulled in a breath. “You’re a damned pretty sight on your knees, Caffrey, and I reckon you’d be just as pretty with your ass in the air, bent over the bed and begging me to fuck you.” His eyes narrowed, a question in them that Neal wasn’t sure he understood enough to answer. Then Spencer’s weight shifted to the balls of his feet, he leaned forward, closing the inches between them, and gave Neal what was probably the sweetest, gentlest kiss he’d ever had. It lasted only a moment, but Neal felt his head clear as Spencer pulled away, and the softness of subspace faded into reality so slowly he felt that he could watch it trickle away. He closed his eyes and opened them again to see Spencer’s expressionless face in front of him, the man’s arms at his sides.

“Are you up, now?” the man asked him.

Neal nodded, still feeling slightly unmoored. “Yeah.”

Spencer jerked his head in response. “Good.” He had a tightness in his face that Neal recognized: the look of a man who has cataloged every good and bad thing he has ever done, and knows which side is heavier. “I don’t fuck people who aren’t fully capable of consenting.”

Neal raised a brow. “Did you miss the part where Moreau gave me to you? I mean, they don’t cover that situation in Consent 101 or anything, but it still seems a little…” He wiggled his hand and made a face.

Spencer bent down and untied his boots, then took them off and followed them with pants and underwear. When he stood back up, Neal had to swallow away the words that bubbled up in him, because he’d never seen so much muscle look so good. “I do what I can,” Spencer said, his voice so low Neal barely heard it. “I can’t—I can’t always make the right choices.” He swallowed hard. “But I always make the choice. And Damien knows that.” Neal could see something hidden behind the man’s stoic expression, but its meaning was unclear. “So if you were lying before, when you said you wanted me, then stop.”

Neal said nothing for a moment, his expression uncharacteristically solemn. “I can respect that,” he finally said. “And you, for being willing to say it.” His fingers moved to the button on his slacks. Without taking his gaze away from Spencer’s face, he unfastened the button and slid the zipper down. His lips quirked. “I believe you’ve made your position of preference more than clear.”


End file.
